Every Time
by TheArtist667
Summary: Every time, it's a different story. Every time, it's a different personality. It's a different song, it's a different mood, every time. Jace & Clary song-fics.
1. End Up Here – 5sos

Jace Herondale wasn't one for going after girls – not in clubs anyways. All the girls in clubs wanted one thing: sex. Not that he minded that they wished to do it with him; it raised his ego every time they would bat their eyelashes at him in a way they hoped was flirtatious. But his mother had taught him better than that. Well, in all actuality, his mother had taught him not even to go into clubs – not like he listened obviously.

"Damn," Sebastian Verlac muttered next to him. "Check out that sexy piece of woman."

Jace raised his eyebrows slightly before swiveling slowly in his chair to face where the other boy's eye was directed.

She wasn't hard to miss at all. In fact, in her wake, the men she walked by shoved their dates away heading towards her like a lost puppies. Her hair was a flaming red, wild and crazy, just like the glint in her eyes.

She was headed straight towards him.

"Man, I know you don't go for women in here, but that is some sex on legs," Sebastian laughed, punching his arm. "She's all yours. Unless you don't want her."

The redhead had reached the bar now, and Jace could see the dark red lipstick smeared slightly and her mascara smudged under her eye from sweat. It wasn't unattractive but slightly endearing.

She leaned forward as she sat, not looking at either of the boys but at the bartender flirtatiously.

"Two Sprites, please," she said, and her voice was a soprano level, smooth and graceful.

The bartender looked dazed before she clapped her hands in his face, shocking him. "Coming right up," he stuttered, and the girl smiled, a devilish smile that almost outdid Jace's infamous smirk.

Sebastian elbowed him, wiggling his eyebrows and Jace rolled his eyes.

She turned, her eyes slightly hooded as she studied him. "Hi," she said, surprising him with her voice change from high and sweet to a normal tone.

It took him a moment to gather his wits and say something. "Am I actually worth your time then?" Jace asked smartly, studying the untouchable girl.

She laughed, which was a flaw, given it was rough and unpracticed. "No, I just wanted to know if I could have your shirt."

Jace's jaw almost fell to the floor by how quickly she'd made an innuendo.

"Not like that," she said, her blush outdoing her concealer layered smoothly on her face. "I like Coldplay, you idiot."

Jace gazed down, forgetting that he was wearing his favorite shirt. "Not for sale."

She smiled as the bartender set down the two glasses. She turned back towards the bartender and looked down at the drinks. She raised her coppery eyebrows, staring at the man with narrowed emerald eyes. "You gave me Coke," she said. "I asked for Sprite."

The man's eyes widened, turning around once more with an embarrassed flourish.

The girl didn't say anything and Sebastian elbowed him once more annoyingly, _Say something, man. _

"What's your name?" Jace asked.

"Oh am I actually worth your time then?" she asked, smirking, mimicking his previous words and then licking her lips with apprehension as if she were thinking. "Trouble. The name's Trouble."

"Hmm, you're parents were very creative," Jace replied, swirling his root beer around in circles. The bar didn't have anything that was even an ounce of alcohol. "Though I think they could've done slightly better."

"So, Trouble," Sebastian asked, leaning around Jace to stare in the girl's startling eyes. "How much trouble are you in bed?"

Her eyes narrowed, and as the bartender set the glasses of Sprite down in front of her, she grabbed one. She pushed Jace backwards with such surprising force that he almost fell off the stool.

Before Jace could even react, Sebastian was drenched in sticky drink, clear liquid flowing down his new leather jacket.

Sebastian cried out in shock before slamming down his fist on the bar, slipping out of his chair smoothly.

"Lots of trouble then?" he murmured, getting to close to the girl.

Trouble narrowed her eyes, not even backing up as Sebastian ran his hands up and down her pale, glittering arms.

"How about we go test it in the backrooms?" he murmured and Jace's eyes widened in shock, realizing that the Sprite throwing did nothing but turn on the other male.

The girl leaned up against the smooth marble of the bar as Sebastian leaned down. The movement allowed more of a glimpse towards her cleavage.

The movements of her hand were almost miniscule but Jace could see her fingers stretching.

As Sebastian leaned down, the girl grasped the other Sprite, splashing it into Sebastian's face.

He stumbled backwards, the carbonated water no doubt stinging his obsidian eyes.

"I don't have sex with assholes," she snarled. "And I'm leaving." As she turned, her hair flew out in a curtain of red.

Jace followed her out, feeling utter curiosity towards the feisty, young girl.

She exited out the back, her heels clicking on the concrete. As she almost passed by the cheap building of the all-age club, she whirled around.

Jace wasn't thinking as he jumped in front of the wall she was about to punch, catching her speeding hand.

Her eyes sparked with anger until she realized who it was then her cheeks flared a pink. "You followed me?"

"I was concerned," Jace replied easily.

"About how my clothes look on the floor?" she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Jace laughed. "Of course not."

She smiled then, and it didn't quite meet her eyes that were filled with something so terrible Jace couldn't even name it. "I'm Clary."

"Jace. And I'm walking you home, Miss Clary."

She smiled. "I think I would like that, Mr. Jace."

He grabbed her small hand, listening to the loud click of her heels as they began walking out of the downtown area of Brooklyn.

She began swinging their arms, whistling a familiar tune that Jace couldn't quite recall, given it was sounded by a whistle.

"We're halfway there," Clary said, taking a right.

"Livin' on a prayer," Jace replied, hoping he wouldn't sound like an idiot, before reminding himself that he _couldn't _make a fool out of himself.

She laughed again. "We're already holding hands," she winked, swinging her hand more forcefully.

It went silent again, and Jace couldn't help but wonder why they were headed towards the richest parts of Manhattan. He would have a long ride to get back to the crappy parts of Brooklyn.

She turned into a circle, walking directly across it, coming to one of the nicest houses in the neighborhood – which was saying something.

"Goodnight Jace," she said, and there was something so unhappy about him leaving that he cupped her cheek.

"What's wrong, Clary?" he asked, before a loud, fuming yell sounded throughout the neighborhood.

"Clarissa Morgenstern!" said a roaring man, stomping out.

Jace felt his feet step backwards and away as the man neared closer, to realize that he was unconsciously protecting the small girl that looked defenseless compared to the towering man despite how she proved she wasn't.

He picked Jace up by the collar of his jacket, shaking him furiously. "You were out with this trashy piece of shit from _Brooklyn?_"

Jace paled as he realized just whom this man was – the local drug seller making millions. Jace had never bought drugs himself, but he'd seen him every time he walked to school.

Clary bit her lips, rubbing her hand up and down her leather clad arm. "Yes Dad. In fact, he saved me from a guy that wanted me."

The white haired man put Jace down, whirling around to see his daughter. "Where were you?" His voice sounded actually concerned for the redhead.

She ran her hands through her hair. "Pandemonium."

The man closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Clary…you know how much I dislike that place."

"You know how much I hate you selling drugs," she replied casually, as if talking to a friend.

Jace stepped backwards, straightening out his collar again, before stuffing his hands back in his jean's pockets.

"Clary," he murmured, "I've stopped, now I only sell inside my business."

This made Jace's eyebrows rise. His mother had made him stop passing by the man two years ago; in order to protect him from buying drugs himself.

"You don't tell me what you sell!" she snapped. "How do I know you don't sell drugs in that? At least you know where I go!"

"I just don't sell drugs or any mind altering things anymore! That's all your getting!" he huffed.

"Then what? You sell women in the trafficking business? How do I know it's not that?"

The man paled and Clary's face went into a form of shock before tears began forming in her eyes.

"You don't," she whispered. "Dad, you _can't_."

She began walking backwards, stumbling. "_No. _I refuse to believe it." Tears ran down her face and her eyes were flashing so fast with emotions that Jace didn't know which one she was feeling the most.

The white haired man ran his hands through his hair in anguish. "I can't do this without your mother Clary! I was never able to make without her! She was the brain! She got all the money! I just want you to get an education better than I did," his voice died away at the end to something completely broken.

"I'd rather live on the streets than know I was the cause for women getting raped everyday," she whispered.

The ex-drug dealer reached out, as if to grab at her but she stumbled away. "I don't want to even _touch _you. I don't want to look at you. Go away!" she screamed, falling to the ground as she tried to scuttle backwards again.

The man shook his head, turning away towards the house, and Jace could've sworn he heard, "Valentine Morgenstern. The man with nothing." His shoulders were slumped as he walked back up the driveway and as he opened the door, Jace saw him look back once more.

Jace waited until the brown door shut once more before leaning down, taking the sniffling girl into his arms.

He rocked their bodies back and forth, whispering things that he knew meant nothing to the suddenly so breakable girl.

It wasn't until dawn started breaking through the darkness that she drew back, brushing her thumbs across his sharp cheekbones that jutted like a knife.

"I don't have anywhere to go," she murmured, her voice raspy.

"You're welcome with us," he whispered. She nodded and Jace pulled her up.

Clary took out a hundred dollar bill. "I'll call a taxi."

The ride was short to the slums of Brooklyn. Jace always kept at least a reassuring hand on her.

By the time they had gotten to his house, Jace's mother was on the front porch, relief flooding her face and she stumbled towards the both of them.

"Oh my baby," she whispered. "I'd thought you'd gotten shot."

She pulled away, pushing away dirt on Jace's face. "You _didn't_." She was staring at Clary before looking back at Jace with a look of disappointment. Her eyes were so miserable that Jace felt his heart race with pain even though he knew he didn't do what she was thinking, but quite the opposite. "I told you to never. Jonathan. Now, you listen up, if you got this woman pregnant, you're staying with her unlike your father did –."

"We didn't do anything," Clary whispered, her voice so dry that it must've hurt to say anything.

Celine took in the appearance of the girl, looking at her broken, splotchy face, smeared with old makeup and tear lines flowing down her face. "You two come inside. I'll fix you both some oatmeal."

She hustled them both inside, closing the door behind them.

Jace was thanking God that his house was always spotless before reminding himself that Clary probably didn't care what the house looked like at the moment.

"Now both of you sit down. I'll be about ten minutes," Celine said. "Is there anything I can get you, darling?"

Clary shook her head; it was almost as miniscule as when her fingers had been reaching for her Sprite.

Jace plopped down on their worn couch and Clary curled into his lap while he stroked through her tangled hair.

He could feel Celine's smile at him, even though his back was to her.

"Thank you, Ms…." Clary said, her voice suddenly dropping off as she realized that she didn't know the woman's last name.

"Montclair," Celine replied gently, picking up Clary's barely eaten through bowl. It was quiet as she rinsed the bowl until Celine sighed. "Now, Jace has school in about two hours. Would you like to stay here? Or actually, what school do you go to?"

"St. Xavier's," Clary replied, and Jace instantly recognized the private school's name. "But I probably won't go there anymore."

Jace's mother wasn't one to ask questions. She had a tendency to leave things hanging until the other person opened up, so now she was just nodding. "Would you like me to register you?"

Clary's eyes lit up with excitement. "Is it a normal school?" Jace felt a stab of shock go through him, before realizing because of who her father was, clubs were probably the most normal place she ever went to.

Celine laughed. "Yes, completely and totally, but it is out of district."

She nodded urgently. "Then of course!"

The older woman smiled. "I have some old girl school uniforms. I'll go fetch them right now!"

As soon as she left the kitchen, Clary's shoulders drooped down, her eyes suddenly sad again.

"Clary?" Jace asked, startled by her sudden mood change.

She shook her head. "I can't burden another person, Jace. The least I can do for her after all she's done for me is act happy."

Jace felt a draft of confusion. Was this seriously the same girl he'd watched prowl through the club crowds like a lioness?

It couldn't have been. That girl was too perfect – which Jace found ultimately boring. Clary – in the last twelve hours that he'd known her – was very interesting, and had a lot of action revolving her world.

Footsteps padded through the wooden living room and Clary straightened back up and Jace could this time see the evident strain in her shoulders.

"Here you are!" Celine said brightly, thrusting the blue and khaki towards the other girl.

Clary smiled, taking the clothes. "What time do I have to be ready by?"

Celine looked down. "You have an hour and a half. You two were out very late." She looked at Jace with a glare and he knew instantly that even though it was because helped Clary, that wouldn't fully set aside her fiery wrath.

Clary felt the pounding of water coursing down her bare back, soothing her sore muscles as she ran the grapefruit shampoo throughout her thick hair.

The events of last night throbbed through her head. Bits and pieces from her father ran through her head, but that wasn't what entirely consumed her thoughts.

Maybe it wasn't right to use Jace as a distraction from thinking about her father but he would never know what she was actually thinking.

How could someone so freaking arrogant give a flying shit about her? Then again, she hadn't seen too much arrogance in the chaos, but she'd seen it the moment she felt his gaze on hers as she was fighting through the waves of people, wanting a bit of freedom.

He seemed to be the only person respectful enough not to whisper dirty innuendos in her ears. She could see now why he was so polite her gender was obviously because of his mother.

He'd held himself with confidence as he lazily asked her if he was actually good enough for her to talk to. She'd felt shock as he'd called her out on her façade. She was set on taking him to the back room and having a ferocious make out session with him until his gorgeous, but disgusting friend interrupted.

Clary heard the timer on her phone go off, signaling the end of her fifteen-minute shower.

She rubbed the white fluffy towel all over her before slipping on the clothes.

Clary walked out into Jace's spotless bedroom. It looked like what her guest room in her home looked like. The bed was pushed up against the wall, and as far as she could see, there was nothing shoved behind or under the bed. The bookshelf was alphabetized and there was nothing on the dresser except for a lamp and a pencil holder.

Jace came in then, running a towel through his wet hair.

"Hmm," he said. "You know, there's not a uniform policy. That was just when my mom went to school. That might be all she has."

He thrusts open his closet doors, throwing open drawers until he found a suspicious pile of girl clothes.

"Why do you have _girl_ clothes in your closet, Montclair?" she asked and his eyes hardened at the name.

"Herondale," he said quietly. "Not everyone in my father's family are assholes. My uncle sometimes comes by with his sons and they're good people."

Clary nodded. "Right. Sorry. The girl clothes?"

"My best friend Isabelle used to come by every weekend and leave clothes. She hasn't done it since she was fourteen though."

He began shuffling through the clothes before pulling out a small grey and red dress, the grey until her belly button and the red with black stripes coming in as a skirt. It came with a little grey belt, tied like a braid. He puckered his lips slightly before pulling out two little red bows.

"My mom's got some shoes if you need to borrow some," Jace said.

She raised her copper outfits. "Do you have a fetish for finding girls outfits? Because, I wouldn't even imagine you being able to pick out something this fashionable."

He laughed, flipping his hair out of his eyes. "I'm secure enough in my sexuality to say, yes, yes I do."

She giggled, grabbing the clothes and walking back into the bathroom.

Once Clary had put on her clothes, she felt like a little girl again, her mother tying little bows into her hair. She'd stopped with the red bows after some kid at her school called her a wanna-be-fire-truck.

A knock sounded on the door and Clary opened it and it revealed Celine carrying a bag of makeup and a pair of red sparkly flats before walking back out.

The makeup was a breeze of three minutes, a quick mascara job and a dab of lip-gloss.

As she walked out of the brightly lit bathroom, she got hit in the face by a flying pair of hipster glasses.

"Damn," Jace muttered. "I keep forgetting how short you are."

Clary crossed her arms, kneeling down to pick up the glasses before sliding them on.

"Cute," he smiled, handing her a bright, old, red backpack. "You're going to be a hit."

The trio of mother, son, and random child walked out of the small house and into a scratched up car.

Clary leaned her head against the windowpane of the car door, and fell into the oblivion of cold dreams.

Jace watched the small girl retreat to the bathroom, praying she would forget something and have to come back before his mother began her scolding.

No luck.

"Jonathan," she finally began, and Jace felt his veins run cold at his true name. He was so screwed. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"That she needed help," Jace replied, not letting his guilt show on his face, "and that I was going to give it to her so she wouldn't be left abandoned."

"What's so bad that she won't tell me?" Celine asked quietly.

Jace wasn't one to tell secrets, but he wasn't going to lie to his one steady figure in his life either. He couldn't. "Her father was the drug seller on that old street." Celine paled, about to interrupt, but Jace held up a hand. "Clary had convinced him to stop eventually, but then he started up an even worse business. He began selling women. She hadn't found out until last night, and…well."

"Oh that poor girl," Celine murmured.

Jace shook his head. "I'm going to go take a shower."

Clary walked through the school halls, the same air of seductiveness and independence she'd held at the club the night before once more turned on.

Jace walked dutifully beside her, showing her a small tour of the school.

The eyes of the student body were clearly on her until a girl darted forward, smacking her gum loudly.

"Jace!" she squealed and Clary smirked as Jace let off an exaggerated sigh.

"Violet!" he mocked.

The girl curled her lip, her frustration showing more evidently than the pimple right above the bridge of her nose.

"Who's _this_?" she sneered, and Clary was shocked by how cliché this situation was.

She'd never believed in the popular high school girl that believed she was so much better than everyone else, but she was clearly wrong.

"I'm Trouble," Clary said, saying her name loud enough for the entire hallway to here, and the students leaned forward to hear the conversation better. "And you're my next victim."

The girl's fist flew out hitting Clary's glasses and shattering the glass built inside the frame.

Clary stammered back in shock before her self defense kicked in and she whirled her leg in a full round house kick, sending the other larger girl back into the population that had gathered.

Clary stalked forward, grabbing Violet by the neckline of her shirt and whispering, "Don't you dare ever touch me like that again." She released her, shoving her back into the crowd and stomped around them towards her locker.

Once they'd reached the A Wing, Jace whirled around angrily. "Really Clary? Really?"

"What?" she asked, crossing her arms defensively. "She punched me first."

"It doesn't matter!" he seethed, his voice echoing down the empty hall. The bell had long since rung.

Clary took a step backwards, remembering the fall of her father and how it was like this for a year after her mother died. He'd abuse her until an inch of her life, and that was when she'd decided to learn self-defense.

A lump of fear formed in her throat, and her senses heightened. "Don't yell at me," she said, and her voice shook.

Jace took it as anger instead of fear and stomped towards her in a wave of fury. "Don't yell at you? Well, guess what Clary? This is me yelling at you!"

"Stop it!" Clary shouted. "Stop it!"

For every step that Jace took, she took another step back. "Stop what? Doing what you deserve?" He laughed bitterly.

She fought the flashbacks. Her therapist her father had sent her to told her it might be a side effect of the abuse.

_You deserve it Clarissa. You deserve every mark this whip makes across your back._

"No I don't!" she cried. "I don't deserve this. Don't you understand?"

She'd finally backed into a set of lockers and Jace met her, pinning her against the wall.

"Stop it," she whispered.

He growled, "You need to be lectured once in your life, rich girl."

His hand rose up and Clary knew it was only to brace him further up the wall, but she still flinched backwards, hitting her head on a handle of a locker.

She felt something warm on her lips, and instantly knew it was he, Jace kissing her.

She didn't move, feeling the flashbacks flit through her mind.

Jace pulled away, obviously unsatisfied. "What's wrong?" he finally murmured. "Why are you so crazy?"

She opened her eyes, looking into his golden ones. She didn't reply, only clasping her lips onto his roughly, yanking his head down.

He picked her up, making her fly further into the wall of lockers. Her head was now above his.

"Jace!" a girl voice said and Jace stumbled backwards, dropping her onto the floor. "Oh my God. My eyes!"

Jace grinned. "Hey Izzy."

The girl walked over, her eyebrows furrowed. "Who's this? And why is she wearing my clothes?"

_Oh,_ Clary told herself_, this is the best friend. _

Jace shrugged. "She stayed over last night. Mom's taking care of her now."

Izzy raised her eyebrows now. "She's really tiny. Those are my twelve-year-old clothes."

Clary felt her red cheeks blush further. "Or you're just unnaturally large."

The other girl smiled. "I think I'll like you, Fireball. My name's Isabelle."

"Clary," she replied.

Isabelle laughed. "You're the girl that kicked dear Purple's ass? Good Lord, she must be an awful fighter."

"Don't egg her on," Jace muttered. "I almost just killed her."

"The Kiss of Death only exists in Harry Potter, Jace," Isabelle replied sharply.

Jace's ears turned pink. "C'mon, we need to get to class."

"That's not what you were saying before I interrupted," she sang.

Jace rolled his eyes now, grabbing Clary's wrist and tugging her towards the M Wing. "Come little midget. We have class to get to."

The day passed uneventfully, with a few people sending glares or cowering away from the petite redhead.

Funny they'd be scared of a girl no more than a hundred-four pounds.

Jace's mom came and picked them up once more, dressed in a Wal-Mart's cashier outfit, her nametag flashing: _Hello! My name is Celine!_

"How was work?" Jace asked, piling into the backseat of the car, allowing Clary to ride shotgun.

"Fine, fine," Celine murmured. "I just forget sometimes that not all people respect a woman."

Jace scowled. "What happened, Mom?"

Celine smiled, and Clary saw then that every wrinkle on her beautiful face was a smile wrinkle, unlike most people in her situation would have. Others would have distress, but Celine seemed as if she looked at the bright side of things.

"Nothing, love. Nothing."

Jace frowned, leaning back into his seat once more, not saying anything else.

"Clary," Celine started, worrying at her lip. "It's fine if you don't want to, but will you be going back to your father?"

Clary flinched, a sense of dread falling into her stomach. This was Celine's kind way of kicking her out. "I-I don't know."

"Sweetheart," Celine said, "you're absolutely fine. I just wanted to know."

Jace made a noise in the back, before saying, "Turn up the music."

Clary looked down at the radio, grinning at what she saw, and remembering their conversation.

"_We're half way there_."

_"Living on a prayer."_

_ "We're already holding hands."_

_ Oh, we're halfway there_

_ Oh, livin' on a prayer_

_Take my hand_

_ We'll make it I swear_

_ Oh, livin' prayer_

The music blared all the way back to the slums in which the Montclairs lived, breezing through the neighborhood, Bon Jovi blaring.

Jace sang along with it, his voice nice and smooth, differing greatly from Bon Jovi's rough voice, making the song sound romantic in a way.

As they pulled into the driveway, it changed to Nirvana's _Smells like Teen Spirit_, and they all piled out of the car.

"I'm going around back to take some groceries to the outside fridge," Celine called, already walking away.

Jace strummed the tune he'd made up on his guitar, writing down lyrics as he went, wanting the song to be perfect.

_How did we end up talking?_

_ In the first place?_

_You're telling me how you like my_-

The door opened, making his pen jump.

He turned around to see his mother, her face unreadable, which was scary for his mother.

"We need to talk about Clary," she said, closing the door, leaning against it.

"You can't send her away," Jace said quietly. "That's cruel."

Celine laughed, and Jace felt a wave of wonder at her reaction. "That's not what I'm talking about. You obviously _like_ her."

Jace's eyes widened, and he dropped the pen and set the guitar gently on his stand. "I'm not talking about this with you. Nor do I need the fourteenth sex talk. She doesn't even like me back."

Celine snorted, sitting down on his bed. "Give me one reason why she wouldn't."

"She's the type that would go for the bad boys."

His mother shook her head. "You're clueless, boy. Girls don't _want_ a bad boy. They want someone to play around with, sure, but in the end, they're looking for a nice and respectful boy. You're that boy, Jace."

She got up with that, closing the door quietly behind her.

Jace shook his head; turning back around and setting his pen back to the paper with a flourish.

"Clary?" Celine asked, and the girl looked up from the drawing of a boy playing soccer. "Do you want to go pick up some things from your father's?"

Clary bit her lip, before deciding that she couldn't keep on borrowing things from Isabelle, even if she had worn it years before. "Yeah. Sure."

The ride to the house was long, given it was across town.

Celine didn't say much, and Clary just picked at her cuticles.

When they'd finally got there, Clary knew that Celine was holding back a gasp of shock as they entered. Her father was organized; nothing would be out of place.

Her door to her bedroom was closed and purely white, but Clary knew that the inside would be covered with posters from movies and her favorite bands and artwork. Her father avoided her room due to the chaos it was always in.

She opened the door, and saw her room the way she left it, except clean and some things packed in boxes. The posters remained on the walls, but the bed was stripped bare and there was nothing left on the floor.

Opening her drawers, she saw a note lying there.

_Dear Clarissa, my dearest daughter,_

_ I'm sorry. I'm so terribly sorry. I know you're going to do the same thing Jocelyn did – run – and I don't blame you for that, my child. Of course, you probably don't remember anything Jocelyn really did. You were so young to remember the way things began being packed in boxes in our bedroom and the way there was barely any silverware left. Then she died, of course you remember that. _

_ So, to show my last hint of love towards you, I packed some clothes in boxes for you, so you wouldn't have to do it. Your mother's things she gave you are wrapped in your favorite shirts and some posters are in another box. You're bed sheets are with your jeans. With your wallet, there is a credit card with four million dollars on it. Use it for the boy's family. He was always so kind to me, despite my job. _

_ Clarissa, I love you my dear. Do fantastic things for yourself. I've moved away to start anew. You won't ever have to see me again._

_ And if, you want something to burn with my face on it (you women always seem to do that in your anger) there is a photograph in your wallet of you and I. I will have the same one in my wallet, just to remind me of your beauty and your kindness and your forgiveness._

_ I'm sorry. _

_ I'm so terribly sorry. _

_ I love you, my baby girl. I'll always love you._

_ Yours forever,_

_Daddy_

Sobs ripped out of Clary's throat, staining the paper with her tears, more to add on to the ones her father on, father mixing with daughter. She clutched the paper to her chest with terrible screams. She sank to the floor, shaking with sadness and Clary vaguely heard the front door close as a sign of Celine leaving.

"Daddy," she whimpered. "_Dad_."

Her fingers fumbled with her phone, dialing the familiar number.

The beep rang through, the repeated beep, and then the monotone voice, "This number no longer exists."

"No!" she cried, redialing once, twice, and three times more. Always the same result, but she couldn't give in.

She finally collapsed on the floor, shaking with terrible sobs.

She crawled over to the box labeled _Jeans_ with her father's sloppy handwriting on it. She opened the wallet, and there sat the happy picture of Clary and him, smiling under the brilliant light of the Eiffel Tower.

"Daddy," she whispered. "You can't be gone."

She closed the wallet once more, placing it back in the box, wrapping her arms around herself.

"Done!" Jace exclaimed with a happy smile, just as a knock sounded on the front door.

He hurried happily to the door before frowning at the man before him. "Valentine."

"Jace," he replied. "Is my daughter here?"

"No, and even if she was, she wouldn't want to talk to you."

The man's face shattered into a thousand pieces and silent tears of sorrow streaked down his face. "I just wanted the best for her. That was all I ever wanted."

"And you didn't think about anyone else. That's what kills her."

"Just, give her this," and he laid a locket in his hand. "And tell her I love her. I'll always love her."

As he began to walk away – his shoulders slumped with self-hatred and regret – Jace called out, "Wait!"

He turned around, and Jace could see the hope burning in his black eyes.

"You can wait until she comes back," Jace said. "And then she'll decide what to do with you."

Clary was still sniffling as they pulled up into the cracked driveway, and Celine was rubbing reassuring circles on her hand.

She didn't notice the other car as she walked in, only heard the sounds of chatting.

The clink of glass cups was clear and shrill as she walked and she saw someone she'd by now accepted she'd never see again.

"Dad?" she asked, her voice disbelieving.

Valentine barely had time to set the wine glass down before she barreled into him, wrapping her small arms around his broad chest.

"Daddy," she whispered. "You're back?"

His fingers made way through her curly hair lovingly. "Yeah, yeah, I'm back."

The sight was almost too personal for Jace to watch, seeing the way Valentine ran his fingers through her fiery hair, murmuring words.

She pulled back, and Jace saw her fist clench into a fist and knew if it were anyone else, her hand would've flew. She remained calm on her face, but her frail hand gathered up and released repeatedly.

"I'm still _so_ pissed at you," Clary said, sliding off his lap, "and I probably won't ever forgive you, but I'll always love you."

"Clary," her father said quietly, "this sounds an awful lot like goodbye."

Clary closed her emerald eyes. "That's because it is."

Valentine staggered back and Jace was halfway shocked. A man like so put together would actually show something human? But then, Jace assumed, he'd been showing expression the entire time. He just didn't show it well.

Valentine stood there for thirteen seconds before the locket Jace had returned to him crashed to the floor, ringing through the air as it connected.

His boots clicked across the wooden floor before the door opened and shut with dramatics.

Clary let out a gust of breath before turning back around and smiling slightly. "Well then," she said. "At least I said goodbye this time."

And as she turned on her heel, Jace gawked, feeling his jaw practically fall to the floor with locket right next to it.

He couldn't help but like her even more.

"Jace!" Clary whined, and Jace smirked. "Why do my eyes have to be covered?"

"Because," Jace said with dramatics, "it wouldn't be a surprise if I didn't."

Clary sighed and Jace felt his heart squeeze with how simple but beautiful action was. It had been six months since he'd realized he was in love with her, and eight that he'd known her.

"Here we are!" Jace exclaimed, lifting his hands from her small face.

She gasped with excitement at the sight. "You found one! Oh my God, you found one!"

"Yeah, I found one," Jace said, and remembered the day she'd told him what her dream was for nature.

_She sat watching the Nature Channel on her iPad, her legs kicked up in the air, socks covering her feet. _

_ Jace watched her from the doorframe, the fascination on her face as she watched the screen. He'd never understood why she enjoyed the Nature Channel, given it wasn't all that entertaining. He supposed it was just an artist's eye. _

_ "Jace, come here!" she said excitedly, realizing he was there. _

_ He shuffled over, peering at the iPad, preparing to fake out an act of excitement. _

_ "Isn't it beautiful?" she sighed, her emerald eyes gazing at the glass screen with a look of adoration. "I've always wished to see one besides the cliché Niagara Falls." _

_ It was a waterfall, though not large. There was a deer drinking water out of it, and the cameraman seemed focused on that. _

_ But Clary wasn't. He knew she watching how the water cascaded gracefully down the cliff, landing in a large puddle at the end. It was only about twenty-five feet, but she was right. It was indeed beautiful._

_ "I bet you wished to be kissed by one like a cliché movie though," Jace chuckled. "By a man more beautiful than the waterfall itself." _

_ She rolled over, not holding the iPad any longer. "What girl doesn't? No matter what they say, there's always going to be the romantic side." _

_ "You'll find him someday, Trouble. I know you will." _

She hugged him, and Jace resisted the temptation to kiss the top of her forehead in an intimate way.

"Thank you!" Her voice was delighted as she pulled away, dipping her feet in the water.

Jace pushed away the feeling of nervousness as he reached for the guitar propped up on the tree.

"Are you going to play a song?" Clary asked curiously, scooting closer.

Jace fingered the strings a bit; making sure it was tuned, before playing a bit of the chorus. The song he wrote hadn't been sung yet, and he knew today should be the day. He would make her romantic dreams complete after that.

"Yeah," he replied nervously. "It's for you actually."

Clary clapped excitedly, a grin spread across her face. "Ooh, yes do!"

Jace cleared his throat and began to play the beginning notes:

You walked in

Everyone was asking for your name

You just smiled and told them "Trouble"

My head spins

I'm pressed against the wall

Just watching your every move

You're way too cool

And you're coming this way

Coming this way

How did we end up talking in the first place?

You said you liked my Cobain shirt

Now we're walking back to your place

You're telling me how you love that song

About living on a prayer

I'm pretty sure that we're halfway there

And when I wake up next to you I wonder how

How did we end up here?

(How did we end up,

How did we end up here?)

Next day out

Everybody thought you were so insane

'Cause you were so far out of my league

My friends say I should lock you down

Before you figure me out and you run away

But you don't and you won't as you kiss me

And you tell me that you're here to stay

How did we end up talking in the first place?

You said you liked my Cobain shirt

Now we're walking back to your place

You're telling me how you love that song

About living on a prayer

I'm pretty sure that we're halfway there

And when I wake up next to you I wonder how

How did we end up here?

Call me lucky 'cause in the end

I'm a six and she's a ten

She's so fit, I'm insecure

But she keeps coming back for more

How did we end up talking in the first place?

You said you liked my Cobain shirt

Now we're walking back to your place

You're telling me how you love that song

About living on a prayer

I'm pretty sure that we're halfway there

And when I wake up next to you I wonder how

How did we end up here?

How did we end up,

How did we end up here?

How did we end up,

How did we end up here?

Jace peeked open his eyes at the flitting of Clary's fingertips on his cheeks. He felt as if his cheeks were burning – in which they were – and he would be completely humiliated if she hated it.

"That was beautiful," she smiled. She leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips over the form of his guitar.

She pulled away, it was only a peck.

"I love you," he blurted and she giggled, taking his guitar off.

"I think you got me alone here to make out, huh?" she asked.

"Very possibly. You aren't the only one who's trouble, Trouble," Jace smirked, leaning forward.

Before their lips connected, she let out a muffled, "I love you too."


	2. Author's Note

**Wondering if this story is open for continuation? **

**PLEASE DEAR GOD READ THIS. YOU REALLY WANT TO. I PROMISE. YOU WILL NOT BE WASTING 1 MINUTE 52 SECONDS AND 85 MILISECONDS. YES, I JUST TIMED MY SELF.**

**It's funny too. **

**At least, I think so. **

**No, but seriously, you want to read this if you're wondering about the continuation of the story.**

Hey y'all!

Just kidding.

Hey guys!

So, with my last chapter, I think I made it seem like that this story was completely done for.

It is, but it's not.

Make any sense? Didn't think so.

This _is_ a story, but it's not.

Still not getting it? I probably wouldn't either. I'm blonde.

This is a series of song-fics. It's all going to be revolving around Jace and Clary, but every single one is going to be a different plot revolving around what the song says. IT'S GOING TO DIFFER FROM THE SONG.

But, I assume some of you want to scream into a pillow because you're like, _OMG Becky. I got hooked onto this story and then figured out it was a ONE-SHOT! Like, who does that? I don't even WANT TO READ THIS STORY ANYMORE. God, she, like, crushed all my hopes and dreams and stuff. _

Just kidding. But some of your emotions are probably like that, and if you did tell somebody that…well…use better terms please and…just stop.

Back to the emotions!

So, since you may have just screamed into a pillow, there is an option number two!

I'm having a contest.

God, everybody must hate those words coming out of an author's mouth.

I have an offer that THIS STORY COULD BE OPEN FOR CONTINUATION!

YAY! THROW A PARTY FOR MISS BETHANIE OVA HE-Z-RE!

But, not by me.

Everybody just left the party.

This is open for ADOPTION!

Yes, yes. Each song-fic is open for continuation IF YOU TELL ME FIRST! AND YOU GIVE CREDIT TO MOI!

For the first chapter, and original idea unless you decide to twist it beyond comprehension.

For example, some may want _End Up Here_ to be continued.

TOO BAD.

Just kidding.

You would tell me, and then say in the author's note: So the original idea was by TheArtist667 for the first chapter, but the rest is by me.

This is for every song-fic.

YES EVERY SONG-FIC IS OPEN FOR CONTINUATION.

I don't know if I'm making this clear, because my thoughts are really blurry at the moment. If you want to continue any one-shot, tell me and I'll explain what I just said.


	3. September – Daughtry

_**Daughty: September**_

_How the time passed away? All the trouble that we gave_

_And all those days we spent out by the lake_

_Has it all gone to waste? All the promises we made_

_One by one they vanish just the same_

_Of all the things I still remember_

_Summer's never looked the same_

_The years go by and time just seems to fly_

_But the memories remain_

_In the middle of September we'd still play out in the rain_

_Nothing to lose but everything to gain_

_Reflecting now on how things could've been_

_It was worth it in the end_

_Now it all seems so clear, there's nothing left to fear_

_So we made our way by finding what was real_

_Now the days are so long that summer's moving on_

_We reach for something that's already gone_

_Of all the things I still remember_

_Summer's never looked the same_

_The years go by and time just seems to fly_

_But the memories remain_

_In the middle of September we'd still play out in the rain_

_Nothing to lose but everything to gain_

_Reflecting now on how things could've been_

_It was worth it in the end_

_We knew we had to leave this town_

_But we never knew when and we never knew how_

_We would end up here the way we are_

_Yeah we knew we had to leave this town_

_But we never knew when and we never knew how_

_Of all the things I still remember_

_Summer's never looked the same_

_The years go by and time just seems to fly_

_But the memories remain_

_In the middle of September we'd still play out in the rain_

_Nothing to lose but everything to gain_

_Reflecting now on how things could've been_

_It was worth it in the end_

3 September 2014, Clary wrote down on her paper. Each time she saw that, wrote that, her heart clenched with sadness. Memories flitted behind her eyelids every time she closed them, remembering all the promises they had made.

_7 June 2011_

_ Her finger swirled in the paint, unconsciously stirring the red orange color. She bit her lip, wondering how on earth she would accustom to this person's order. She would have to though – they were offering her ten thousand for a couple weeks worth of her time. _

_ She looked down at her paints, yanking her finger out of the paint once she realized it was in the color. "Damn it," she muttered, wiping the paint onto her apron. _

_ The bells jingled behind her and Clary almost sighed before she realized the newest customer might hear it. She turned around with a smile, "Welcome to _Artist's World. _How can I help –?" Her voice cut off with a squeak of shock. The boy looked as if he were from heaven, until the arrogant, half-assed smirk came along. _

_ "Did I surprise you?" he asked snottily and Clary almost rolled her eyes. _

_ She smiled sweetly, before walking over to her tea on the other side of the room, taking a long sip. "No, my throat has been acting up all day. Take a look around, see if you like anything." _

_ She waltzed back over to her canvas, deciding on painting an abstract to clear her mind for that dumb project the customer asked. _

_ As she was drawing a light line with her pencil, a breath fell over her neck, making her hand fly as she jumped. "I see something I like, and it's not a painting." He began placing light kisses on her neck, occasionally licking a certain spot. She felt her knees getting weak, not feeling the need to restrain herself from falling on her face. "You know you like it, baby." _

_ "Sir, this isn't very professional," Clary finally murmured, shoving him off. _

_ He looked at her in amused shock. "I can make it professional. Would you like me to pose for a nude picture?" _

_ She wrinkled her nose, before shaking her head, and flicking some orange paint on him a moment later. _

_ He gawked at her, before laughing and picking up a paintbrush of his own. _

_ She was really glad she wore an apron. _

He'd come every day after that, learning his name was Jace Herondale. They would occasionally not talk at all, him watching over her shoulder as she painting and sketched and repeated. When they did talk, it was always light and humorous.

Sometimes, he would catch her into a kiss, and she'd giggle before shoving him off.

It was the thirty-seventh day of him knowing her that he asked her to coffee.

_She had forgotten about Jace as she occasionally did, letting the smell of the paint overwhelm her as the paintbrush made even strokes, creating something others could truly enjoy. _

_ She bit hard on her lips, as she delicately colored in the lines of the rock, making the image pop off the page. _

_ As she set the paintbrush once more in the gray, Jace cleared his throat, startling her. _

_ She turned towards him, feeling prepared to blush once more about forgetting him before seeing the flush of his own skin as he rubbed his neck. _

_ Clary raised her copper eyebrows as he licked his lips, the odd flush overtaking his golden skin even more. "Jace?" He murmured something uncomprehending as she giggled, "Sorry?"_

_ He rolled his eyes, throwing his hands up in the air. "Do you want to go get some coffee?" _

_ Clary snorted. "That's what you've gotten yourself all worked up about?" _

_ He rolled his eyes once more. "You have the exclusive Jace Herondale asking you on a date, and that's what you say?" _

_ "I wasn't aware this was a date." _

_ "Of course it is. I just said that." _

_ "Let me finish off my gray," she ordered, and saw the flush leave his face even more as he smirked with victory. _

_ Five minutes later, she was bundling herself in scarves and jackets, ready to walk the few blocks to get the coffee shop. _

_ "Do you really get that cold to walk around the corner?" Jace asked, smirking down at her. _

_ She stuck her nose up stubbornly in the air, trying to get her cheeks to stop burning so wildly. _

_ He leaned down and kissed her cheek, making her cheeks flame even more. "I think it's adorable." _

_ She peeked at him through her eyelashes, ignoring the bitter wind of winter as they walked. His hand grasped at hers as they walked through the door. _

_ "Two coffees please," Jace ordered, slapping a five down on the counter. _

_ The cashier rolled her eyes. Her nametag read _Isabelle_ and Clary recalled Jace talking about a sister with the same name. "You don't have to pay me, Jace. You'll hold it against me for years. Who's the giant scarf?" _

_ Clary crossed her arms stubbornly. "There are only four scarves on me!" _

_ Isabelle snorted. "The furball speaks!" _

_ "Damn, I am seeing the resemblance!" Clary scoffed, looking between the raven-haired girl and Jace. _

_ Isabelle laughed, flipping her hair over her shoulder, leaning forward. "It's okay, you're a lot better dressed than most the girls that come in here with him. How the hell did he get a modest one?" _

_ "He forced himself upon me," Clary replied, "and quite literally." _

_ Jace rolled his eyes, "But you _liked _it!" _

_ "Yep," Isabelle replied, "her coffee's free too."_

It wasn't the last time he'd ever asked her to coffee, but Clary was certain now there wouldn't be any more dates.

He'd told her he loved her seven months after that day, proclaiming his love to her as Romeo did to Juliet. He'd stood down below her apartment building, throwing pennies onto her balcony, shouting his declaration of love once she'd finally walked out.

Eight hundred three days later was she'd found out his darkest secret.

_"Yeah," he called, "It's in the file labeled J!" _

_ She stuck her key into the filing cabinet, letting the lock click and the drawer swing open. _

_ Clary took the cabinet out, finding she was too short to find anything in the large cabinet. As she took the drawer out, a journal clattered to the ground, opening to a page labeled, _The Bet – A-Z.

_ She was about to close it once more before seeing her name, along with twenty-six other girl's. Adriana 1-2, Bethany 3-7, Clarissa 250- _, Darcy 8, Epiphany 9-13, Francis 14-15, Georgia 16-18, Hannah 19-25, Iris -. _

_ Clary ignored the other girls, flipping to the most recent and used paged, hers. _

_**How the hell did I miss C? I suppose it doesn't matter, because I met a girl in the art store. She pushed me off today, but I swear I'll get her eventually. I'll go see her everyday for the next fifteen years if I have to. Whatever it takes to get her to have sex –. **_

___"Clary?" asked Jace and Clary looked up, confusion all over her face. "Clary – no!" He looked at her with wide eyes. _

_ "You're using me?" her voice was small, and she felt her heart shattering, as he didn't meet her eye, looking in horror at the journal in her hand. "Jace? You're using me for a dumbass bet? You want me to have sex with you, and then you'll leave?" _

_ He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing as he did so. "At first, but not anymore. I love you, Clary." _

_ She shook her head. "I don't believe you!" she cried, feeling the tears running down her cheeks. "I _can't_ believe you. I have the proof right here." _

_ He was trembling. "Clary, I was stupid, you made me better. Please, please, please…."_

_ "You used me, Jace," she whispered. "For a stupid bet. And you're still using me." _

_ "Don't cry, please don't cry," he whispered. He took a step forward and she let him. He wrapped his arms around her and she let him. He kissed the crown of her head and she let him. "Don't leave me, Clary. You're all I have." _

_ She knew he was right. His mother was dead, and his father was a drunk that didn't pay any attention to him. He had the Lightwoods, but they weren't what he needed every time. She was. _

_ "You lied to me once," she said, "how do I know that you won't do it again?"_

_ He went ridged. "That's what this is about? Trust? Clary, I can gain your trust back, and I will –." _

_ "No, you can't," she whispered, before leaving his embrace and walking out the door, not looking back at the empty shell of a man she once had. She couldn't look back. _

The customer looked at her with concern. "Are you okay?"

She wiped a tear from her eye, shaking her head slightly to shake her head. "Yeah. Yeah, it's just a bad day for me."

The girl took off her sunglasses – which were bewilderment to Clary in the first place as they were inside – and Clary was hit by a wave of shock.

"Isabelle?" she squeaked. The customer had been pregnant, so Clary didn't exactly recognize her, and Isabelle wasn't one to settle down.

Isabelle grinned elfishly. "You'll thank me for this in a couple days." She clapped loudly, and then gave out a long taxi whistle.

The door to the art shop banged open, revealing the perfect angel that had waltzed into her life one thousand one hundred sixty-eight days ago.

"So," he asked, the same grin that was on Isabelle's face, "how's life?"

Looking at the casual expression on his face, and the way her life happened to be for the past year made her truly miss how she missed him.

Then she'd remembered what he'd done.

Instead of her anger peaking to levels of extremity, her sadness came through and washed over her like the day she'd packed her bags and left his apartment.

As if she hadn't cried enough from the dreams she still had about sleeping in his arms, as if she hadn't cried enough after waking up with the blankets and pillows next to her cold, as if she hadn't cried enough from all the other reminders that he wasn't there anymore, tears streamed down her face, leaking onto the paper Isabelle was about to sign.

His tennis shoes echoed on the floor as he walked over, wrapping her his arms. Clary distinctly heard the bells tinkle as Isabelle left, although her senses were completely focused on Jace. The way he smelt – lemons and something with spice – the way his body was always felt unnaturally warm, the way his steady breaths stirred her hair, the way his hair tickled his nose, the way his fingertips felt as they moved along her cheeks, wiping her tears away, and the way she fit perfectly in his arms – her head under his to where his chin could rest on the top of her head, and his arms framed her body shape.

"I missed you so much, baby," he whispered, kissing the top of her head.

Clary looked up, and her green eyes shimmered with tears. "You're back?" her voice was disbelieving, and her reasoning told her she positively should. He'd lied to her for years, and saw her because of some stupid bet.

"Of course," he murmured, kissing her forehead again, "I'll always come back for you."

She sniffled, burying her face in his chest once more. His fingers curved up and down her spine, making goosebumps appear on her arms.

He pulled away, his hands reaching into his jacket's pocket. A new journal came out, though it wasn't recently bought. It was labeled _September_.

"Read this," he murmured. "And see if you forgive me then." He dropped another journal on the counter. "And this if you're feeling particularly nosy." His index finger tapped her nose once, before kissing her forehead. "I'll see you in a week. I love you."

She didn't reply as his shoes hit the floor once more, and the bell tinkled as he exited.

Clary took in a shuddering breath, her mind not seeming to want to process what exactly had just happened. His lips still lingered on her forehead, even though he'd long since been swept in to the autumn air.

Her fingers traced the etching of the leather bound journal, letting the swirls of the cover take over her.

Finally, her feet ushered across the floor, and she switched the _We're Open!_ sign to _closed_.

_7 September 2013_

_ I hate journals now. Journals are what took her away from me. I hate September too, and right now, I've written September, and written in a journal. I guess I hate myself too. Damn journals. Damn September. Damn me._

_ I suppose, though, I should write this for her. I should take on a little bit more pain, and maybe the pain will make me forget the tears and the look of shear confusion on her face when I saw her. _

_ She's so naïve. I assume that's what made her like me. What girl as beautiful as her would date a guy as screwed up as me? Especially when she's perfect. _

_ I hate myself. _

_ In a way, I hate her. _

_ Look at me. I can't even say her name. But it's always in my head, and her sweet little voice too, sounding like a church choir. Her laugh of pure bells and her purified red hair, as pure as the fire that warms a homeless man on a cold night. Her green eyes that are as green as the forests and as beautiful as the emeralds in a cave. Her skin is as milky as the moon, and it glows like all the bright stars in the world. The flush of her cheeks has a way of moving you more than the quest to find out the secret of the Seven Wonders of the World._

_ I miss her. I'll never stop. I love her. _

He kept a consistent pace of writing words until October 30th. Every day was the same heartbreak, and tears smeared some words.

Clary felt as if she'd killed him with every word she read. The smudged words were like a thousand deaths of him.

_22 November 2013_

_ I haven't been able to open this damned journal for a month. Every time I do, it's like another heartbreak. I've tried, honestly. I'll touch it, trace the lines indented in the cover, but I haven't been able to open this. _

_ Halloween was her favorite holiday. I remember back in 2011 she asked me to come to her house to help pass out candy. I thought it was ridiculous. _

_ I went anyways, remembering her answering the door. She was in a long purple dress, fluffed out like a princess's with ruffles. She wore a crown in that fiery hair of hers. _

_ I suddenly understood why her house was decorated like a castle. _

_ Every time a kid would ring the doorbell, she would answer the door with a huge smile, and would always hug them, whether they were two or teenagers. _

_ I don't think it was the dress that made her a princess that night. _

_ Today is Thanksgiving. She would wake me up every morning, telling me she was so grateful for me._

_ I'm still thankful for her._

Clary furrowed her eyebrow. How had he remembered all this was a mystery to her. She hadn't even recalled how excited she was that year.

The purple dress still hung in her closet, but in the back so she wouldn't remember their first Halloween together.

Clary rifled through the pages once more, before reaching the end of the book.

_2 September 2014_

_ Dear Clarissa,_

_ I suppose you'll be reading this now. I've written every emotion I've felt this past year. You weren't supposed to read it. You weren't even supposed to see me again. I'm not good enough for that. _

_ You know, in the end, you changed me. I'll be honest, I was planning to hit it and quit it. _

_ That obviously didn't happen. _

_ I don't even like to remember that Jace. You think that it was me on the inside the entire time. I think that I didn't have an inside until I met you. _

_ Clary, I love you. It's not an opinion, it's a fact. It's fact that should be written in every science textbook. Love is real. Not even Romeo and Juliet held the love I possess for you. _

_ Have you ever read Romeo and Juliet? You once told me it wasn't a requirement for you to read it so I don't suppose you did. _

_ Romeo had a love before Juliet. Her name was Roseline. He thought she was the beautiful of all beautifuls. He actually fell into a state of depression over her. _

_ Romeo then falls in love with Juliet at first sight. I think he has a problem, and needs to chill out, but that's just me. _

_ I didn't fall in love with you at first sight. In fact, I thought you were a rude bitch that was playing Hard to Get. You'd fall eventually. _

_ I think what makes Romeo and Juliet have a love not as true as ours is the fact that Romeo already had a love. Yes, they died for each other, so sweet, but I would do that for you too. But I never had a love before you. I didn't know what love was. _

_ Did you ever realize that Romeo and Juliet is a love story that lasted three days and was between a thirteen-year-old girl and seventeen year old boy that causes six deaths? At least ours wasn't like that. _

_ So maybe, you won't forgive me. Knowing how stubborn you are, there's an eighty-five percent chance you won't. But, I don't live by the rules, but by the exception. You're my exception for everything. _

_ Clary, I always liked to compare our relationship to Shakespeare's play. In the end, I don't think it's too different. You know, unless you've read the actually story. _

_ So if you recall how I pronounced my love to you, you would know this. I'm sure you do, the neighbors called the police. Damn Dorthea. _

_ And in the end, I hope we'll die together. _

_Your love, _

_Jonathan Christopher Herondale_

It took Clary the entire week to read the journal. She did, after all, have a life. The angst in it was clear, as clear as the tears that ran down her face when she read September to April. Then, it finally got happy. It finally had hope written into the crisp white pages.

She would never crush his dreams. She still held him dear to her. To crush his dreams would be like crushing her heart in to thousands of little shards that wouldn't kill her for years, but every day would pick away at her life.

Her fingers would tap anxiously on the counter every time the bell tinkled and she couldn't concentrate on her artwork. Every time she did, it would always be gold, something gold.

The door buzzed once more and Clary glanced up, a nervous smile on her face. It wasn't him once more.

"Are you that damned Fray child my grandson constantly talks about?" the woman in his place snapped. Imogen Herondale.

"I guess," Clary said shyly. "I mean –."

"Silence!" the woman barked. "He is betrothed, you dumb girl! To be married in three weeks! He is mocking you, but unaware as he does so. You stay out of his life! For him to not have a girlfriend will make it easier to love her when he finds out he is to be married!"

Clary flinched backwards. _To be married? _"He doesn't know?" She asked quietly.

"Why of course not! Why else would he be trying to get you back?" she snapped once more, red filling her cheeks.

The bells rang again and this time, the boy she'd been hoping for walked in.

"Imogen?" Jace asked quietly. Clary knew of his view towards his grandmother, and it wasn't welcoming.

"You're going to be married?" Clary blurted.

Jace's eyebrow furrowed as he looked around the taller woman and to the redhead. "Er, no…. I mean, I wasn't planning on moving that fast. Unless you want to of course!"

"You are to not marry this girl!" Imogen said forcefully. "You are to marry Ella Parrelim in three weeks."

Jace looked taken back with a look of pure disbelief before horror and then he took on a brokenhearted look. "But I don't want to marry her! I want to marry Clary!"

"I am afraid that what you are saying is surely impossible," Imogen said stiffly. "Now you two are to say goodbye in this instant."

Tears – true tears – formed in Jace's eyes. He tried to force them back but there were traitors slipped and he wiped them away ferociously. "No!" he cried. "I refuse to!"

Thoughts flooded Clary's brain, overwhelming her to the point of hyperventilation.

She'd given herself hope, letting the thought of finally having Jace back give her happiness all throughout the week.

"Clary!" Jace exclaimed, catching her as she fell to the ground. "Shit."

That was the last thing she heard before the oblivion overtook her.

An obnoxious beeping sound awakened Clary from her darkness of dreams. She tried smacking the alarm clock but it was if her arms were made of lead.

She groaned, trying to roll over, but something weighed her down more than the weight of her arms.

Her eyes fluttered open in pure annoyance before realizing that she was in fact nowhere near anywhere her studio or her bedroom.

A hospital. The annoying beeping was the heart monitor and she was weighed down by dozens of little needles.

"Good morning!" the doctor exclaimed, wearing a proud nametag of _Magnus. _"How are you feeling on this fine Wednesday?"

Clary shook her head. "Wednesday? It was Saturday last I checked." Her throat felt as if cotton balls were being stuffed down it and soaking up all of the water that was there for a purpose.

"Okay!" Magnus exclaimed cheerfully, writing down a note. "Feeling as if she needs to go back to kindergarten and learn her days of the week!"

The figure next to Clary shifted uncomfortably. "Shut up, Magnus." The voice was extremely familiar, her Jace. "It's not everyday you come back from the dead."

Magnus rolled his eyes, cracking his neck. "Well, if you'd called for an ambulance, she wouldn't have died."

"Don't speak of it so lightly," Jace snapped. "You may be my closest cousin's boyfriend, but I won't tolerate that."

"It's not light," Magnus replied. "It's trying not to make her freak out."

"'Her' is very thirsty and would very much appreciate a cold glass of water," Clary snapped.

Jace chuckled, passing her a glass of water. As he leaned over, he kissed her forehead. "I love you."

"Oh yuck," Magnus groaned, rubbing his eyes. "I would really be grateful if you didn't do that in front of the doctor."

"Then leave," Jace said in an annoyed tone.

Magnus threw his hands up in exasperation. "Fine!"

He stalked out, practically slamming the white door behind him.

"We need to talk," Clary said quietly. "You can't tell me you love me when you're getting married in less than three weeks."

"Oh but I can. You can't force someone to marry another."

"Jace…"

He looked down at her, his eyes portraying all the emotion in the world in a simple glance. "Scoot over," he murmured quietly, pushing a fiery tendril out of her face. She scooted, and he sat, forcing his back at an awkward angle to look at her. "I love you, Clary. Okay? That's how it is, put in the best manner possible. I will change my damn name if I have to, I'm not marrying her."

"She doesn't know that."

"She doesn't need to."

Clary sighed. "The decision has already been made. You can't run away from that. Maybe we just weren't meant for each other. You can learn to love Ella."

"No, I can't. I love you. You can only have that one love in your life. A soul mate. You'll love them the rest of your life, no matter what. You're that for me, Clarissa."

It was silent, in the manner that hospitals always were, full of silent grief. For Clary, the silent grief was this moment, not the fact she had died.

That fact didn't surprise her really. She'd been in so many close to death situations, that death didn't scare her anymore.

This moment did.

"Do you not understand that?" Jace asked quietly. "When I say I love you, it's not an opinion, it's not something that can change, and it's a fact. Love isn't something that's an opinion. The world revolves around it just like I –."

The door burst open and Celine Herondale rushed in, shoving her blonde curls behind her ear. She had stunning blue eyes, like her husband's. The gold was a mystery to everyone, the one in Jace's eyes. The doctor's called it a mutation.

"Clary!" Celine exclaimed, rushing over to the bedside. Celine was a person that everyone immediately liked. She just had the atmosphere of happiness that radiated into the room. "How are you, dear?"

"Fine," Clary replied shortly. It was this woman's decision that destroyed all hope in her.

"I've convinced Stephen to call off the wedding. It was supposed to be a suggestion, not something permanent, and Jace's decision. Imogen made it into something else, I'm sorry dears."

Jace began choking, before jumping up and crying out with happiness. He sprinted around the bedside, and began dancing with his mother. Celine laughed, and Clary smiled from her bed, letting hope fill her entirely once more.

2 September 2015, the physical therapist wrote down. "Only a couple more weeks, Miss Fray."

Clary paled, looking at the therapist with sadness. "I was supposed to be done _today_. I've been in physical therapy for almost a year."

"Yes, well, you seem to be extremely clumsy and constantly injuring yourself as well," the doctor replied with a teasing smile.

"Oh, yes, I know if I'd been a complete couch potato I would've been done quite a few months ago, but I do seem to fall a lot," Clary replied, her voice soft and let down.

"Then what's got you down, Clary?" the doctor asked.

"Tomorrow's my wedding. I don't want to hobble down the aisle with a _cane_."

Though it seemed as if her moment of death would've been minor, despite the death part, Clary had injured more of herself than was to be expected. As she'd fallen, she'd injured her knee as to where she would need a replacement or therapy. She'd chosen the less painful route.

Then, she'd been sweeping the top of her studio, when she'd fallen off and injured her knee once more. Her doctor said she was lucky it wasn't more than that.

"Clary," the doctor said, "some things are inevitable. You'll still be beautiful anyways."

Clary sat down, rubbing her eyes wearily, trying not to cry. The only wedding she would ever have would have a big, brown cane in the middle of it.

The doors jingled, and Clary remembered how Jace was to be picking her up.

"What happened?" he asked, concern lacing through his voice as he sat down next to her.

The therapist looked up from writing down her notes. "Clarissa is having some…difficulties."

"What she means," Clary said, her voice slightly muffled, "is that I have to walk down the stupid aisle with a stupid cane."

"Well," Jace said, looking up at the therapist. "You'll still be beautiful."

Clary sniffed, looking up at him. "Really?"

The therapist threw her hands in exasperation. "I'm sure we can work something out anyways. You were supposed to get rid of the cane weeks ago!"

"Then why didn't I?"

The therapist shook her head with a grin.

Clary jumped up anyways, squealing in excitement.

The banquet in her hands as she walked down the aisle was slightly heavy, but smelt amazing.

Every face turned her way as the organ played, and suddenly, Clary was hoping she didn't fall on her face. That was easily predicted though. There were_ stairs_ going up to the aisle.

Clary made it there, in fact, without falling, even though it took an amazing amount of concentration.

"Oh jeez," she muttered. "That was _intense_."

Jace chuckled, but didn't say anything.

Thirty minutes of the preacher speaking, Magnus stood up. "Oh my goodness! Just freaking kiss! I want some cake while it's icing isn't completely hardened!"

Jace rolled his eyes, but Clary yanked his collar. "I'm quite exasperated too." Her lips connected with his in a flurry and Clary was aware of the loud clapping from Magnus's direction and broke away.

"Jeez," Jace muttered. "He only had two minutes and thirty seconds left anyways. Thanks, Bill."

Bill was Clary's preacher from when she was a wee little thing.

Bill was awesome.

**I felt like ending it there. I feel like it was a nice little funny note for a story with a whole lot of angst. **

** Sorry, you guys were probably expecting some fluffy thing, but that's not the song I felt like doing. **

** I was inspired for this song by my homecoming night, and it came on at the restaurant. **

** It was a beautiful moment for me. **

** So, here you go, with this angst little thing. **


End file.
